Rider
by Atlantic Jewel
Summary: Ian never expected that the girl he rescues from kidnappers could cause him so much trouble! Why is she suddenly his partner? What are Alex and Jack going to say about this 'business associate's daughter? And where is she getting her information from?


RIDER

Ian never expected that the girl he rescues from kidnappers could cause him so much trouble! Who is she? Why has Alan Blunt made her Ian's partner? What are Alex and Jack going to say about this 'business associate's daughter'? And where is she getting her information from?

**Author's Notes:**

**There are two kinds of people who sit around thinking up ways to kill someone. Psychopaths and mystery-writers.**

**I'm the kind that will – someday – pay better.**

**So, just because I'm broke now, don't misunderstand me. ^^**

* * *

><p>CHAPTER ONE<p>

The Deception Of Appearances

E.L Beckett was one the richest and most powerful people in the world, and also one of the most secretive. Everything personal about E.L Beckett seemed to be a mystery, right down to the multi-billionaire's gender.

It was rumoured that E.L Beckett was actually a woman, who had started out with nothing and, through hard-work and devotion, had risen up to the top in order to get somewhere in a world seemingly dominated by influential males.

Nobody was entirely sure who or what she was, just that she owned a great number of corporate businesses, and was associated with many countries around the world including England, France, Japan, America and Germany, although it was also rumoured she had ties with countries such as North Korea and Russia. She also seemed to have a passion for science, and funded many companies that researched a wide range of areas.

One such business, EB Enterprises, seemed to be the one she was most focused on at the moment, as most of the funding was going into there. EB Enterprises, for what it was, was located in a fairly atypical area – a long stretch of dirt-gravel road called Poison Lease Road, located just out of SawyersValleyin Perth, Western Australia. It was the main branch of EB Enterprises, and had a sister in Malaysia. It was unknown exactly _what _research was undertaken there – there was a high-attention to security in and around the six-storey, steel and white-tiled building, which looked out of place amongst the blue gums and bottlebrush.

At a glance, there was nothing suspicious about this at all but, in the world, nothing is ever as it seems. People who knew that understood that, by being able to recognise when something was not as it appeared, then they too would be able to act so as well. Being able to fool people into believing that something was how it _appeared_ to be, but not necessarily _was_, was a powerful weapon indeed. It was a tool employed by nearly every secret agent, and it was how Alan Blunt expected all of his MI6 covert agents to operate. In fact, it was one of the selection criteria for selecting certain agents.

Of course, MI6 knew about E.L Beckett but, unlike the rest of the world, they had reason to suspect the powerful billionaire. Then again, MI6 didn't really trust _anybody_ – it was part of what they did, and this untrusting nature of theirs had accounted for a great number of victories over the criminal world (as well as a fair few deaths of their own agents, but they tried not to keep count).

Because of this suspicion, MI6 had already been following E.L Beckett's movements for a few months prior to the phone call received by Alan Blunt of December twenty-sixth.

When the phone rang, Alan, a grey-haired Englishman in his mid-fifties, picked it up on the first ring. At first, there was silence on the other end of the line, followed the sound of static. A quick glance at his computer screen, which was connected to his phone-line, told Alan that the reason for this was the narrowness of the frequency's bandwidth. This usually meant that the person calling was either trying to keep the call from being traced, or taking extra precautions to avoid the call being tapped into it. Or both.

Either way, Alan immediately pressed a button to record the call, which he later played back for his second-in-command, after calling her in from the vet's office where her cat Q was having his leg operated on after being run over by a car.

Tulip Jones was a dark-skinned, rather masculine woman. She wasn't attractive, but never attempted to be otherwise, and she knew Alan Blunt better than any other person working for MI6, although their personal and professional lives remained firmly separate.

She stood patiently beside Alan's desk, listening to the reply of the anonymous call. Her head was tilted slightly to one side, as she silently attempted to make sense of the scrambled message.

"_Got information-out-ckett-eems-EB-prises-ot what-seem-orking on-iodigit clon-g-use of ille-human test-g. Their-cat-Per-based..._"

It was impossible to make out even the gist of the message, or even to tell if the speaker was a male or a female. In the end, they had to get someone in to fix up the transmission, piecing together the different sounds in order to properly string the sentence into words that actually made sense.

The new message sounded like this:

"_Got information about Beckett. It seems that EB Enterprises is not what they seem. They're working on biodigit cloning through the use of illegal human testing. Their location is Perth-based._"

Questions emerged from this. Who had sent this message, and where had they gotten this information from? Was it based on fact or assumption?

This newfound information, however, seemed to reassure Alan that his suspicions about E.L Beckett had been well-founded. It was not uncommon for people like this to have some sort of ulterior motive – to be doing something on the outside that would never be linked back to that. In a way, it made sense. Nobody knew anything about this E.L Beckett, just that she (he?) had a passion for science and the means to fund various research projects. For all anyone knew, E.L Becket could be a deranged psychopath.

The news that EB Enterprises may have been working with biodigit cloning was disturbing, and even more so that it seemed to tie in with a recent string of kidnappings and abductions. The theories that existed surrounding the idea of teleportation all pointed to the subjects of such experiments usually ending up being no longer alive. If that was the case, then EB Enterprises would have to be getting _a lot_ of test subjects from _somewhere_ – and the number of missing persons inAustralia andMalaysia in the past year or so accounted for this.

It was all the proof Alan needed, but he was going to need to prove it to the UK Government before further action could be taken.

That was why, on December twenty-eight, Special Agent Ian Rider boarded a flight fromHeathrowAirport, bound forPerthInternationalAirport. He had had to leave behind his only surviving relative, his eleven year old nephew Alexander (Alex), in the capable care of their housekeeper, an American girl named Jack Starbright. The story he had told them was that an important business opportunity had arisen, and he needed to attend a conference overseas.

Ian was a secretive man, and burdening his family with the true nature of his occupation was the _last_ thing he ever wanted to do. That, and get his nephew involved in the world of espionage.

* * *

><p>For Ian Rider, this should have been a simple assignment. In short, it was: Get in, get the information, get out. Preferably without getting shot. For someone like Ian Rider, it should have been one of the easiest assignments in his career.<p>

However, in the world of espionage and counter-terrorism, nothing as ever as predictable as it should be.

Ian had been working undercover at EB Enterprises for a month now, playing the role of a security guard. He had discovered that, here, security was a top priority. It seemed that only a select few knew what was _really_ going on in this building, and one of them was Hazel Grace.

Hazel was a woman who was about seventy-five years old, and seemed to know everything about everyone. She had blue eyes speckled with brown, false teeth and skin cancer, and was fond of unintentionally embarrassing people she met.

For example, on Ian's first day at EB Enterprises, when he'd been introduced to the older woman, she'd lunged out with surprising speed and grabbed onto one of his perfectly tones arms, saying: "They sure make em' good in Britain!" Loudly enough for the entire foyer to hear.

Now, the other security-guards were fond of referring to Ian as 'Brittie-Boy'.

Still, for all of her strange tendencies, Hazel appeared to be highly informed and, to Ian's surprised, very good at keeping secrets. It didn't take him long to realise that she, if anyone, would know what was going on here at EB Enterprises.

It wasn't until the start of February, however, when Ian was able to get some information, and it happened because they weren't actually that different...

Ian had been briefed about his mission prior to leaving theUK. He was already well acquainted with the speculations surrounding E.L Beckett, and he had read the case file they'd given him thoroughly on the eighteen and a half hour flight toPerth. So, he was very aware of what he might be dealing with: Kidnappers, deranged scientists and possible murderers, amongst other things. Ian knew how to handle all types of criminals, from having worked forBritain's secret services since he was a young man. Years of dealing with some of the world's most dangerous and sometimes brutally horrific cases had prepared him for many things, but what he found out, on that night in early February, was disturbing even for him.

The weather had been unusually hot that week but, on that particular evening, it had decided to rain. Ian was stationed at one of the side gates to the research centre, which was only visible over the tops of the blue gums, its white roof standing out against the slowly dimming skies.

Ian's calm brown eyes scanned the area frequently, ignoring the rain that was now threatening to turn into a storm, and not allowing his mind to stray from the task at hand. It was because of this that he was able to see what most other people would have missed – a figure, dressed all in black, lurking behind the gum trees to his right.

Ian assessed the situation in half a second, and it took him only the other half of that second to react.

The figure hesitated, and then turned and ran, and Ian followed, one hand ready to reach for either the radio-transmitter or the gun – whichever was necissary. Years in the field had taught him to never shoot first, but he was ready to react accordingly if he had to.

Ian had spent some time studying the research centre's layout, so he knew exactly where everything was. He was athletic, and so had no trouble in running through the trees without breaking stride, although a small thud from up ahead at one point told him that the intruder had not been so lucky.

Ian knew from his various dealings with people just what kind of person he was dealing with at the moment. The figure's body-language, the way they had hesitated before running, told Ian that he was dealing with a youth, one who was probably scared and so, as a result, would be heading straight for the next nearest exit.

For this reason, Ian was able to take a wider path, and came around to cut off the youth's escape. With one well-timed action, he was able to apprehend the person, who fell to the wet ground, and didn't make any attempts to get up.

Ian stood over the youth, and assessed the situation again.

The person he was dealing with was about twelve or thirteen, around the age of Ian's nephew, and something about this boy reminded Ian of Alex. Maybe it was the look on his face, one that said: _Okay, so you caught me – now what?_

"Who are you?" Ian wanted to know, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the teenager's appearance. Something wasn't right about this…

"Why do you care?" The teenager asked, his dark eyes stubbornly glaring into Ian's, as if challenging the man's authority.

"Well, if that's the way it is," Ian said evenly. "I'll just turn you over to the authorities." He reached for his radio-transmitter.

The teenager's eyes widened slightly. "No!" He said suddenly, making an effort to stand up, and that's when Ian noticed the blood on the ground. A pool of it had started to form underneath the youth's left leg, and the cause for that soon became apparent.

Ian's eyes trailed over the large chunk missing from the teenager's thigh and, in second of thought, wondered how the boy had actually managed to run like that.

Then, the boy staggered forwards, and Ian caught him around the arm.

The boy looked up into Ian's eyes, all traces of defiance gone, to be replaced by fear and…pain. The boy was dying, and there wasn't a lot Ian could do right now, as he drew the conclusion that this boy must have been one of the test subject's abducted by EB Enterprises.

"Listen to me!" The boy said, his fingers digging into Ian's arm. "Those people in there, they're _evil_! They kidnapped a whole bunch of us, did some crazy experiements on us! People have been dying," He shuddered slightly, as if he knew what awaited him. "They're the lucky ones! Georgie Klemmings lost both his arms, Kirsten Shan lost the right side of her body from shoulder to waist!"

Georgie Klemmings…he was aPerthboy, a runaway who'd been missing for nearly three months now. And Kirsten Shan…she'd disappeared from a bar inKuala Lumpurwhilst visiting relatives. Ian had read the files on each of the runaways, so this news only served to confirm his – and MI6's – suspicions.

The young boy shook Ian's arm. "Do you know about all this? ! _Did you know_? !"

Ian didn't have a chance to answer. In that instant, a single gunshot rang out, and the young boy jerked, as if electrocuted. His eyes glazed over, and he slumped. Ian let go of his arm, and the boy fell to the ground, his lifeless body now stained with his own blood. A single gunshot wound to the back of the head had killed him instantly, saving him from the pain he'd been in already.

The rain seemed to beat down twice as hard just then, as Ian stared at the body, and then footsteps walked smartly towards him, water sloshing around on the red-gravel.

"So sorry you had to see that." An American voice said calmly, and Ian looked up to see a man, carrying a Beretta M92 Autoloading Pistol, walking towards him. He recognized him instantly as the head of security, Timothy Reinolds. The American was the same height as Ian, and stood face-to-face with him, his rain-soaked blonde hair falling across his light green eyes. Those eyes held no warmth or friendliness.

Ian was calm, but he knew that the situation had suddenly turned tense. For anyone of lesser experience, this would not have been ideal.

Timothy seemed to be assessing Ian, his eyes raked over the Englishman in front of him. They took in the athletic build, the perfect physical shape and, most importantly, his stance. Timothy Reinolds nodded once to himself and, keeping the gun trained on Ian, said: "Come with me."

Ian had no choice to follow although, for a moment, he thought about the boy who now lay dead on the rain-soaked gravel.

This was definitely Ian's least-favourite part of the job.

* * *

><p>At this point in time, Hazel Grace had been sitting at her computer in one of the third-storey office rooms, which just happened to be facing the area where the scuffle had taken place. She saw as a young boy ran out from the trees, only to be stopped with a well-placed karate move from her favourite British man. Hazel's speckled eyes watched as Ian and the boy spoke, and then watched as a third figure approached from the side, unnoticed by the other two. She heard the gunshot, and saw the young boy fall to the ground.<p>

As Timothy Reinolds approached Ian – whom everyone at the facility knew as Terry Greys – Hazel reached for a mobile-phone disguised as a pen on her desk, and dialled a number swiftly.

Nobody answered, but they didn't need to. The number was a code, one that would be sent back to her people in an instant, even though they were overseas inAmerica.

Hazel thought about the attractive Englishman whom was possibly walking to his death. She had been able to tell straight away that he was no security guard. She could tell even more now, after this particular incident.

Seventy-five year old covert agent Hazel Grace sighed, and turned back to her computer screen. It was time to close this case…

* * *

><p>Timothy led Ian back inside the building, and down to the basement, where people were usually not allowed to go due to it being restricted and all.<p>

Now, however, Timothy walked confidently behind Ian, with the gun still pointed at the Englishman, and occasionally gave directions. Ian didn't have to ask where he was being taken. He already knew.

He was being taken to see _her_…

They walked through a maze of corridors that seemed out of place beneath the West Australian bushland above them. Ian was calm, even though he didn't know what the situation would bring with it. There was always a possibility that he was going to die within the next minute or so, and it wasn't a new possibility for him.

Ian and Timothy reached a doorway at the end of one corridor, where they stopped. Timothy swiftly relieved Ian of his gun, before he placed a hand on the small glass panel beside the door. A sensor read his hand-print, before a small chime sounded and the door opened slowly.

Timothy motioned with his head. "In there." He ordered, and Ian complied. He stepped through the door and into the dark room, before the doors closed again and enveloped him in blackness.

From behind the steel door, Ian heard Timothy call to him: "She will be with you shortly. Sit tight – and don't get any ideas. You try one thing, and you'll be joining that kid at the bottom of theSwanRiver. Got it? Good."

Ian understood all right. Already, his brain was formulating a number of calculations and plans, all of which _might_ save his life, and they might not.

Calmly, Ian Rider sat down in the pitch blackness to wait for E.L Beckett…

* * *

><p>Hazel's lap top showed a 3D image of the entire layout of the EB Enterprises building. She had been calculating for months about how best to go about this, and now she'd figured it out. The above-ground floors were mainly offices and the scientist's living quarters. Below all that, however, was an elaborate system of tunnels and corridors, the layout designed to confuse people who attempted to break in – or escape.<p>

This was not the first break-out Hazel had witnessed, nor was it the first time someone else had been involved other than the hopeful escapee. Always, _always_ the runaway was killed, and so was the innocent party. Not that Hazel considered Ian exactly _innocent_ – it was clear to her that he was working for someone else – but she knew the procedures well-enough by now to know what was going to happen next.

They would take him down into the basement, to one of the pitch-dark rooms they kept down there. Then, _she_ would be called in, from wherever she was, and the interrogation would begin. Hazel had been studying this thoroughly, and had drawn the conclusion that E.L Beckett was a woman who liked to do things for herself. She wouldn't let a man step up to interrogate their suspects, she preferred to do things her own way. Wherever she was in the world, she would be here in the shortest amount of time possible, and take over from Timothy.

What Timothy and E.L Beckett did _not_ know, was that the seventy-five year old woman who had been working for them for a long time was in fact an undercover agent working for the United States Government. She had been in the field long enough to know that people would be unlikely to suspect her – and, they _certainly_ wouldn't realise that she was a talented hacker, who could tap into any communications device…heck, she could eavesdrop through a _microwave_ if she wanted to. She'd worked as a young telecommunications officer during the war, where she'd memorized multiple complex codes in order to transmit information back to her country.

So, it was no problem for her to hack into the new prisoner's radio-transmitter.

For awhile, all she got was silence and static but, five hours later, she heard a door open.

E.L Beckett must have been closer than usual, or else she'd finally perfected her transportation device. Either way, Hazel Grace was able to listen in, as E.L Beckett began her interrogation.

Hazel knew that the lights would still be out – this was done so that nobody, not even those who were going to die, could ever see E.L Beckett's face. The woman's voice, however, sounded a lot younger than it should have, and it had surprised Hazel at first, as well.

E.L Beckett sounded like she was about seventeen years old.

"Who are you?" Beckett asked, her voice calm, even. It sounded like the voice of the Angel Of Death, and would have given almost anybody else chills.

In the darkness, Hazel imaged the Englishman looking calmly into the darkness at the face he could not see, and heard him reply: "Terry Greys."

As they spoke, Hazel began tapping out a message into her mobile-phone pen. It was a code she'd used during the war, and the people she worked for knew it.

"That's a lie, and we _both_ know it." Beckett replied, a note of acid creeping into her voice. Hazel heard her take a step closer to her prisoner. "You are no security guard, are you?"

The Englishman didn't say anything.

"Tell me!" Beckett's voice was venomous now. "_Who do you work for_? !"

"I work for you." The man replied, still calm.

Hazel heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh, and could easily imagine the man's now bloodied nose. She hoped it wasn't broken. That British boy had such a handsome face.

"I will tell you something," Beckett said, her voice dangerous and low. "I _know_ who you are, and who you work for."

Hazel paused, listening intently.

"You are Ian Rider," Beckett sounded triumphant. "And you work for the British Secret Services, don't you?" There was no reply, and now a booted-foot connected with the side of a body. "_Don't you_? !"

Hazel heard the Englishman – Ian Rider – cough up something that sounded suspiciously like blood, and then he said: "If you say so…" Still calm, despite all that was happening. Hazel nodded curtly. After all she'd heard about the people employed by Alan Blunt, she'd expected this much.

"There, now," Beckett sounded calm now, too. Hazel heard her begin to pace. "So, Rider, why don't you tell me how much you know? About my EB Enterprises and research?"

Hazel imagined Ian shrugging, and then heard him say: "I know only what I've seen here."

"Don't. Lie. To. Me." Beckett said harshly. "MI6 _wouldn't_ have sent you in without briefing you!" She paused, and then her voice took on a different tone. "Tell me, _Ian_…how much did you figure out from what they told you, and what you've seen?" Hazel heard her approach, and guessed that Beckett was turning on the woman's charms now. She'd heard it before – Beckett usually did that right before she killed her victims.

"What's there to figure out?" Ian replied. He didn't sound affected by Beckett's charms at all. "You're just an everyday multi-billionairess who happens to love science. Nothing suspicious about that."

Beckett laughed without mirth. "Ah, _Ian_, how _little_ you know…you make it all sound as if what I am doing is merely _trivial_, but really, it's _not_. You see, what I am working on is…"

"Biodigit cloning?" Ian interrupted her.

Hazel's fingers were working nonstop to relay this all in code to her people.

Beckett said: "For a person to be transported, a machine must be able to pinpoint and analyse all of the 10^28 atoms that make up the human body." She sounded like she was reciting from a text book. "This information is sent to another location, where the person's body is reconstructed with exact precision. Molecules can't be even a millimetre out of place, because otherwise they get spliced."

Hazel and Ian put two and two together at the same time.

Ian voiced their shared thought. "You've been experimenting on people." There was an underlying edge to his voice.

Hazel imagined Beckett shrugging. "Don't make it sound so bad. We get rid of the ones who've been spliced. You saw that. Ian, there are more than a _trillion trillion_ atoms that have to be transported this way. We can't be expected to get it right all the time." As if that made it alright.

"Then why even bother?" Ian wanted to know.

_Yes, why indeed?_ Hazel wondered. She had, of course, known that this company was working with such illegal experimentations as biodigital cloning. She just hadn't been sure how she was going to shut it down. That was why her people had advised her to call their British alliances for assistance, but the message had become so scrambled on the frequency that she hadn't been sure it had gotten through. Now, however…

Hazel knew she had to do something about this, and fast, before Beckett pulled the trigger on Ian Rider's life.

Her hands flew to the computer's keypad, and she began to type in a series of commands. A few seconds past, as Hazel sat there staring at the screen, and then a voice came through Beckett's radio-transmitter, and Hazel heard it through Ian's.

"Are you there?"

"Beckett." The woman replied briskly.

"We have trouble in sector seven," The voice sounded frantic. "There seems to be a system crash in multiple computers, and we're about to lose all our data!"

"Emergency Procedure Upsilon!" Beckett barked immediately, and Hazel heard the door opening again. "Repeat, EPU – do _not_ lose those files!"

Hazel's fingers began typing again. This was her chance to copy the authorization needed to open that door. She knew her other little code wouldn't be enough to completely shut down the project – not by a long-shot.

The only possible solution was, of course, to destroy the entire building. Those were her orders, and she knew how to follow them – Ian Rider was her key to that.

* * *

><p>Ian was left alone in the pitch blackness again, and his mind was racing. He was bleeding, and bruised, but that wasn't what was bothering him. He currently had no way to contact MI6 and, if nothing changed in the next half hour, he was going to end up dead. He knew that much was for certain.<p>

He was just realising this, when a crackle of static and a voice cut him out of his reverie.

"Can you hear me?" The voice of Hazel Grace sounded static-y, but Ian could still hear her. It was coming from his radio-transmitter. He reached for it, and pressed the button.

"Hazel?" He hadn't expected to hear the voice of the seventy-five year old cancer sufferer, but he'd also been taught to expect the unexpected.

"Yes, now listen closely," Hazel said briskly, sounding like a strict Grandmother. "I'm about to reprogram the door to be able to be opened with a code and, when I do, you'll have to take out Reinolds. Do that, and then await my next transmission. Over."

Ian had barely enough time to pull himself to his feet, when the door did indeed open, and light from the hallway was flooding in.

"What the-?" Timothy's question was cut off by Ian's fist to the back of the security-guard's neck, knocking him unconscious. The American slumped to the floor, and Ian quickly relieved him of his M92.

Hazel's voice came over the transmitter again. "Very impressive. I should have expected this from someone hired by Blunt."

"Who are you?" Ian asked her, now realising that she might be more than he'd first expected.

"There's no time for that." Hazel said. "Just listen carefully – the people I'm working for want E.L Beckett's work here destroyed, and you're going to do it, before she kills anymore people. Understand?" It wasn't really a question.

Ian thought about this for a fraction of a second. He hadn't been given any specific orders regarding what to do once he'd discovered what Beckett was up to, but now it looked like he didn't have a choice. Hazel seemed to be holding a very important card here – she worked for someone who had trained her in espionage; that much he could tell. She was clearly providing his freedom, in exchange for his help.

Remembering what had happened to the boy who was Alex's age, and what he'd been told about the other people who'd been abducted and brought here, Ian said: "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

><p>E.L Beckett marched down the hallway, taking long and confident strides. There was a certain aggression in the way she carried herself, which was surprising for a girl of her height and age. It was one of her greatest weapons, and she knew it. E.L Beckett had many weapons, not all of them physical. She could torture a person just by talking to them, and she had been known to be able to make a grown man cry.<p>

The incident with Ian Rider was replaying in her mind as she walked towards sector seven (where a lot of her most precious research and experiments were undertaken) and, for reasons she didn't quite understand, she was confused. This British spy had been completely calm, even when she'd been interrogating him. Worse than that, he'd practically defied her. Beckett wasn't used to that – she commanded respect, especially from those lower life-forms known as males. The next time she saw Ian Rider, she was going to torture him a little more before killing him. If it had been a girl, Beckett might have been a little calmer – but it wasn't, and she wasn't.

She was also furious that her people could have been so inept to have lost half of her data, and from that particular sector of all places.

This research was important to her…once it was completed, she would finally achieve what she had set out to do, years ago…

When Beckett arrived at sector seven, she found it in utter chaos. The scientists were running from computer to computer, trying to find the cause of the problem and download all the files to hard-discs at the same time. Beckett didn't understand this – why hadn't they just made copies of it before, to be on the safe side?

This was what she got for employing men…

Beckett didn't speak and, once the scientists saw her, they all gave her a wide berth. She ignored them, and sat down at one of the computers.

She began typing and, the more she typed, the more disturbed she became.

Someone was hacking into the system's mainframe from the inside…someone was sabotaging her life's work…

She knew who that someone was.

* * *

><p>As Ian walked through the basement's labyrinth-like corridors, Hazel guided him, and relayed information to him.<p>

"Once you get to the centre of the basement," Hazel was saying. "There will be a door which requires a four-digit pass-code – that code is 1084. It will also require Beckett's hand-print, but I'm working on the override of that."

Ian was slightly impressed. Hazel was clearly a talented electronics hacker, and had obviously previously directed people as she was directing Ian now.

"When you get in there," Hazel continued. "There should be a series of computers attached to a large metal structure. The structure has a series of complex wires and chemicals in and around it, and the slightest disturbance will make it unstable."

"You want me to destroy the structure?" Ian guessed, walking in the direction Hazel had told him to go.

"There are two ways you can go about this, Handsome," Hazel sounded slightly bemused. "You can use a time-delayed IED, and buy yourself some time, or you can just go in there and cut the wires and sacrifice yourself in the process." She chuckled slightly.

"Uh…I think I'll take Option One thanks, Hazel." Ian replied, reaching the door Hazel had described to him. He typed in the four-digit pass-code on the keypad, which slid into the wall and a small glass panel appeared, much like the one on the other door. Ian waited for a moment and then, courtesy of Hazel, the glass flashed green once, and the door opened.

"Okay, I'm in." Ian told Hazel, but there was no answer. "Hazel?"

There was nothing but static on the other end, and Ian knew instantly that something must have happened. He kept going, knowing that there was nothing he could do if it had…

* * *

><p>Facing the room Hazel had described to him, Ian was reminded of something out of a sci-fi movie. Considering the kind of work E.L Beckett was doing here, Ian wasn't surprised.<p>

He walked towards the huge structure, and wondered what the people ofPerthwould think if they'd known this was here. Three computers were connected to the arced-structure by a series of multicoloured wires, and Ian remembered what Hazel had said about cutting them.

Not wanting to consider that option just yet, he walked around the structure to inspect it. The room was dim, which made it hard to see, and Ian was just about to make his decision, when a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Not. Another. Step."

Ian swiftly looked towards the door of the room, and saw a figure standing, half in the shadows. He couldn't see her face, but there was no mistaking that voice…

E.L Beckett kept her face hidden in the shadows. Ian wondered if this was something she had just grown accustomed to, like a habit. He could see from her height, though, and hear from the sound of her voice that she was probably not a day older than twenty.

This surprised him, but didn't cause him to let his guard down – this young woman was dangerous, that was clear. His ribs were still aching where she had kicked him and, as she walked further into the room, he understood why – she was wearing steel-capped high-heeled boots.

Ian remembered what Hazel had said about the entire structure being unstable. His options were fast running out – destroying himself along with the entire facility seemed to be the only one left.

He didn't want to do that, though. No man _really_ wants to die, no matter how brave and dedicated he is.

Still…

Ian's hand was resting on one of the three computers, and now he moved it ever so slightly towards one of the wires snaking out of it. He didn't know how many wires he would have to cut for the entire structure to explode – he just hoped that one would be enough.

E.L Beckett saw what he was doing.

"Don't do it!" She hissed suddenly, her voice as cold as ice, but with a certain note of panic in it now. "You'll kill us all!"

"You don't seem to have any problems with killing people, Beckett." Ian replied calmly.

"Sometimes there are necessary steps that must be taken for science!" She replied and, from the position she had suddenly taken up, Ian knew that she was about to pounce.

He made his decision.

_I'm sorry, Alex…_ He thought, and tugged the wire out of the computer, disrupting multiple other cables that were connected to the structure, just as E.L Beckett appeared at his side and grabbed the cable as well.

What followed next was the explosion that changed _everything…_

* * *

><p>The explosion could be heard as far west asScarborough.<p>

It was felt all across the lower south-west, between Chittering and Collie.

And, it affected areas all throughout Sawyer's Valley and Chidlow.

Many people thought that there had been a terrorist attack, or perhaps thatNorth Koreahad finally decided to attack.

There was something different about this explosion, though. Perhaps it was the fact that only the research facility was completely destroyed, and that the shockwave only travelled as far as the boundary of the area.

Or, perhaps it was the beam of light that seemed to shoot straight up into the sky?

Whatever the reason, it was _not_ a normal explosion and, for that reason, Ian Rider survived.

* * *

><p>The MI6 Agent dragged himself out of the rubble, gasping. There was a large, bloody wound on the side of his head, and he suspected that one of his ribs might be broken. His entire body ached.<p>

He was alive, however, and that was the main thing.

Ian looked around at the silent destruction that always follows and explosion, trying to clear his head and get his bearings. The only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the fire, and Ian wondered for a moment why he wasn't deaf. He remembered pulling out one of the wires, and E.L Beckett grabbing onto the wire at the same time. Then, everything had gone white.

From standing that close to something like that, why was he not dead?

Deciding not to question why he'd been handed a second chance at life, Ian started to think about how he was going to contact MI6, preferably before the authorities showed up and started asking a whole lot of difficult questions. He needed to speak to Alan Blunt.

There was one thing that was for certain, however. The research facility of EB Enterprises had _not_ withstood the explosion – it lay in ruins around Ian's feet.

But, what had happened to its funder?

Just as Ian was starting to think about this, a hand appeared from the rubble, about ten feet away from him. It clawed at the air for a second, before another hand appeared.

Someone was trying to drag themselves out of the rubble…

Was it E.L Beckett?

Ian didn't know but, whoever it was, he wasn't going to just leave them there. He would get them out, and then decide what to do next, once they were both out of danger.

He climbed over the pieces of crumbled building, briefly wondering what had happened to Hazel Grace, and reached the hands, grabbing hold of one of them, and he felt whoever it was clasp his hand back. The hand was cold, and shaking.

Ian used his free hand to clear away the rubble and, with the heavy stuff out of the way, the person was able to free themselves.

As soon as the person was free, Ian took a good look at the stranger.

She was young, and small, with short dark brown hair and wide, hazel eyes. She was wearing all black and, as he looked at her, he noticed a yellow crystal around her neck.

"Who are you?" Ian asked her, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice, and probably sounding a lot harsher than he'd intended.

"I'm…" She said, hesitantly.

Ian froze. That voice…E.L Beckett? !

Then, as he watched, the girl's eyes filled with tears and, before he could stop her, she'd thrown her arms around him. She didn't cry, but her whole body shook, and her grip on him was strong. Her breathing came out in short gasps, like she was trying not to cry.

Okay, so it _wasn't_ E.L Beckett. She _sounded_ an awful lot like her but, now that Ian thought about it, her voice hadn't had the same coldness as E.L Beckett's. This girl's voice was softer, more hesitant and…Ian couldn't place it, but there was something…soothing about it, despite the fact that she was obviously scared.

Ian let her hold on to him. She was obviously one of the people who had been kidnapped by EB Enterprises…he would take her with him, to be taken care of and then questioned by MI6.

As if on cue, Ian heard the sounds of a helicopter, and then the sound of his own name being called out through a megaphone. A rope ladder was dropped.

Ian gently detached the girl from himself. "Are you alright?" He asked her, concerned because she'd suddenly gone still and, when he looked at her, her face was now pale. Something was wrong, though…

The girl's golden-coloured eyes were wide. "D-did he just s-say _Agent_ _Ian Rider_?" She whispered, and Ian nodded. "Oh my God!" The girl gasped, looking horrified all of a sudden. "Oh, my, _God_!" She buried her face in her hands. "This isn't happening…I'm not here…"

Ian was suspicious about this girl's reaction, but his MI6 spy-training had already kicked in – he needed to get out of there, and _now_.

And, this girl, she needed to come with him. Ian grabbed her around the waist, taking her by surprise as he grabbed onto the rope ladder. She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as they left the ground.

Ian looked at the top of her head, and that was when he realised what was wrong.

There wasn't a single wound on her, save for a few scratches she'd gotten, climbing out of the rubble.

Ian's thoughtful eyes narrowed.

Who _was_ this girl?


End file.
